Oh The Irony!
by Mourning Peaches
Summary: What goes around, comes around, and that's the truth. The tale of five MofM employees and how their lives were twisted together by fate's sense of humour. An odd mixture of horror, suspense, angst, humour and romance, but a good read! I promise.
1. The Yin

AN - I love this story, it's one of my favourites, though I warn you now the time and date leaps around a fair bit, so **PAY ATTENTION to the time _and _the date**, otherwise you'll probably get a tad confused. D Other than that I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. By the way, this is dedicated to Becbe, as she's had a crap day, what with Robbie being hit by that car, and finding out that our school has royally fucked up her plans for A Levels and 6th Form. I hope this cheers you up even the slightest bit Bec!

Disclaimer - It's not mine! I don't own any of it! Not even zippity, _or _doo dah!

Summary - What goes around, comes around, and that's the truth. The tale of five MofM employees and how their lives were twisted together by fate's sense of humour. An odd mixture of horror, suspense, angst, humour and romance, but a good read! I promise.

**Oh The Irony! – By Nestlé**

"_Sentimental irony is a dog that bays at the moon while pissing on graves." - _Karl Kraus

_**Christmas Eve 1996, 3:24 am. **_

"WILLIAMSON!"

Patrick Williamson bolted upright, instinct and Auror training making him thrust his wand out in front of him before he even realised he'd grabbed it from under his pillow. The next few seconds were taken up by reassuring his sleep-clouded mind that there was no threat in his bedroom; there was however, a head in his fireplace.

"Wha-?" He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and staring at the agitated face of his superior.

"Sorry about the wake-up call Patrick, I know from personnel experience it's not nice, good to see you alert though. Get dressed. Quickly. There's been an attack on a muggle town – Milton Keynes." Patrick lunged out of bed, and went straight to his wardrobe "Apparate to the edge of Linford Wood, next to the roundabout; George is already there."

Patrick was now fully awake, pulling his trousers on while searching frantically for a pen to write the location down.

"Is it bad?" He asked, hopping around as he put his foot through the trouser leg.

"Yes."

"I'll be as quick as I can."

"Faster. See you there." A sudden flutter of green flames and the head of Mark Dawlish disappeared. Patrick pointed his wand at the slightly ajar door and the sound of a whistling kettle could suddenly be heard. He grabbed the band from the bedside table and gathering his long hair into a ponytail, ran into the kitchen.

One minute later, having gulped down a cup of coffee in less than two seconds (fast eating being a skill he had learned at a early age, due to his family frequently being late and the well-known fact that his two brothers were pigs) he was crouched on the outskirts of Linford Wood, next to the one eyed Georgia Richmond. She was almost invisible in the dark woods; except for her eye, which seemed to glint yellow in the darkness, and glared at him in the most eerie way.

"What have I done now?" He asked, trying not to show that he was intimidated. He wondered what had put her in such a bad mood; she'd seemed fine this morning. Georgia opened her mouth to reply but the arrival of their cell leader cut her off.

"Took your time, didn't you?" Patrick scolded teasingly.

"Shut it Williamson," Mark replied, though he couldn't hide his grin.

Georgia scoffed, "Can we try to be serious? There have been deaths." The cheerfulness of the group instantly lessened. Being an Auror was tough and you needed a sense of humour to survive, but they could go too far.

Mark cleared his throat, taking command, "Right, well, it will probably be just clean up; I don't think any Death Eaters will be left. But just in case, be on your guard, and make sure you don't go gallivanting after one without backup." He cast a glance at Georgia, who was scowling at the far off cars circling the roundabout next to the wood. It was 'gallivanting' after Death Eaters that had caused her to loose her eye.

Mark continued, "They apparated in to the town centre first, pretty much killed everyone who was there, then moved onto the nearby housing estates. They only damaged property in the beginning, but when the muggles came out to see what was happening…" He didn't need to elaborate they both caught his meaning. He swallowed, and continued, "We go to the houses."

"It's just us?" Patrick asked.

"No, Kingsley's team is on the centre. Stay hidden; you don't want to undo the work the Obliviators have already done. Though most people would have been moved away by now."

"How did they get here before us?" Georgia said angrily.

"You know what the Ministry is like at the moment. They're so desperate for the Muggles not to know about You-Know-Who that they're giving extra funding to the Obliviators and hardly any to the Aurors."

"That's-"

"Stupid. We know. Come on, let's go." Mark sighed. Georgia apparated at once, while Patrick stayed only a few seconds to give Mark a sympathetic smile, before he too apparated. Mark shook himself, grasped his wand firmly, and apparated after his two stubborn friends.

_**The same day: Christmas Eve, 4:50 am.**_

Patrick shuddered, and risked a glance in Georgia's direction; she was staring stonily ahead, scouting for any Death Eaters, and refusing to look at the victims scattered around her. Patrick let her, they worked better like this anyway, she searched for the Death Eaters, while he went in between the bodies, trying to remember each face, so when they finally met the murdering scum, he was fuelled by anger. Georgia however, was always calm when fighting, her unruffled composure chilling to any near her. They argued relentlessly, but when it came down to it, they were perfect co-workers and both knew it.

Patrick wondered how Mark was doing; he had split off in another direction earlier on, taking a slightly shorter street. He had probably doubled back and joined Kingsley; there was always more damage in the town centre. Though looking at the harm done here, Patrick couldn't imagine it being much worse.

The streetlamps were mostly broken and they flickered every now and again; the light from a lamp reflected off of the pearly white face of a little girl, lying still on the grass outside her house. Patrick followed Georgia, who was checking the darkened area at the side of the house, and found himself kneeling down next to the girl and brushing her brown curls from her face.

Her eyes were green, foggy with death, and open wide in horror; she was no older than 6. Silently, Patrick closed her eyes, and moved over to the man who was sprawled out on his front a metre away; he was obviously her father. The large blister and hole in his shirt showing he had been hit by a burning curse in the back before death. Patrick got a sudden image of what had happened; the father had turned around to scream at his daughter to run away, only to be cursed by the Death Eater he had been facing and fall dead at the feet of his child, who it seemed, had only been able to stumble backwards before she too was killed by the demon in the mask.

"Get away Patrick!" Georgia said sharply, turning around from her inspection of the alley to scold him, "Leave that to Mungo's!"

He ignored her, and continued to stare at the man; he could feel the painful echo of their last moments – confusion and fear. That was what had been their last emotions; he felt a burst of hot anger that these innocent people had to die like this, he looked back at the little girl – she'd had her whole life to live. Tears caught in his eyelashes, and he blinked them away. In the dark over the girl's still form, a sudden movement caught his eye, and he glanced up sharply only to see the slight reflection of light on a shiny mask – directly behind Georgia.

"George!" He yelled, lunging at her. They toppled to the ground as a jet of bright light shot over their heads.

"G'roff!" Georgia growled, pushing at him. In the confusion that followed, Patrick somehow managed to find his wand, fire a stunning curse, and roll off Georgia, all the while being kicked in the shin, and having various curses yelled in his ear.

"He got away!" She shouted furiously, after picking herself up off the ground. "How could you miss!"

Patrick turned to her with a steely gaze, before walking towards the bushes where the Deatheater had been hiding. Georgia quietened instantly, checking her temper and stopping herself from blaming Patrick, she had seen the anger in his eyes, and knew this was no time to berate him. In her opinion, he hadn't chosen the best option. In his position, she would of fired instantly, and worried about her partner the instant she knew the Deatheater was detained, instead of managing to hold up both of them and leave the Deatheater free to fire – or to escape. But they thought differently about this sort of thing, she was here to fight, while he had chosen the job to help people.

She cast a quick glance at the dead girl on the floor, but had to look up again – it was all too personal for her; to see their pale, cold faces caused anger, and that led to your emotions ruling your actions. She couldn't- wouldn't let that happen to her again. She could lose more than an eye next time.

She breathed deeply and shook herself, clearing her thoughts and relaxing her tensed muscles. She walked over to Patrick, and stood behind him – he was intently focused on examining the bushes, and she didn't want to disturb him. It was when he was as acutely concentrated as now, that she was glad he was her partner.

"Why was he hanging around here?" Patrick whispered, Georgia wasn't sure whether he was actually asking her, or just voicing his thoughts, she decided to supply her opinion anyway.

"It couldn't have been to gloat – Deatheaters only do that when they know they're safe, and where there isn't any… mess."

"Yes," he replied, crouching low so he was looking under the branches instead of trying to peer through them. "So there had to be something to keep him here." He leaned further down, unbalancing himself even more; Georgia put an arm out to steady him, and he smiled at her appreciatively, instantly, she knew she was forgiven and he was aware she was sorry. With an arm out resting on Georgia, he knelt down so the top half of his body was completely under the large conifer like bush.

"It's dark, I can't really see anything…" He said, voice muffled, "Hang on." A bright light shone through the leaves now, and Patrick stilled, searching underneath the widely spread branches and leaves. Georgia stood biting her lip and wishing he would do something instead of just lying there, when suddenly his whole body jolted and he pulled his head back with a curse.

"What is it?" She asked. He looked under the bush again, nodding to himself.

"_Nox_." He whispered, then aimed his wand under the bush and fired the stunning curse.

"Patrick?" She asked, uneasily - he seemed paler.

"Help me lug him out George, he's pretty big and quite far back." Swallowing her questions, she knelt down next to him and reached for the large dark shape that Patrick had managed to move slightly nearer. Grasping material in her cold hands, she pulled, grunting with effort, and together they managed to drag the unconscious Deatheater out from under the branches.

He lay there, breathing only just audible under the mask. Patrick had hold of the back of his hood, and he pulled his hand away to reveal it slick with blood. Georgia suddenly came to life, and ripped the mask off furiously, the sweaty, unconscious face of Crabbe stared back at them.

Patrick couldn't hide his disappointment; he had hoped that it would have been someone a bit more… _important_ in the Deatheater circle.

"He might talk." Georgia comforted, "We could persuade him easily, especially if he's had a blow to the head." Patrick wasn't listening however; he left her bonding Crabbe's hands and feet and wandered back over to the body of the dead man.

Patrick stood, staring at the ground; he cocked his head so that he could see the moonlight reflecting upon the dewdrops on the grass. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could make it out; the grass between the bush and the dead man's body was bent slightly, forming a path of flattened grass that was barely visible in the dark. A new piece began to form and insert itself into the film that replayed itself over and over in his mind.

The man had managed to sneak up on one of the Deatheaters, hitting him with… something. Patrick scanned the ground, and sure enough a thick plank of wood lay not far off, he wondered how he had missed it previously. He looked back at the little girl; she had come outside, he guessed, just after her father had hit the hooded Crabbe. He had turned, to yell at her to go back, run away, when the other Deatheater, it must have been Goyle from his bulky figure, had fired the burning curse, then death to the father and child. Patrick could imagine Goyle then, trying to wake his friend, then in desperation, dragging him over to the bush, hiding him, then finally apparating when Patrick fired at him and he knew there was no more chance to help his fellow Deatheater.

Patrick felt sick; how could they be so merciless to have killed a little girl and her father yet show compassion to the likes of _Crabbe_? Patrick knew the answer, and it infuriated him more every time he had to think it: because Crabbe is pureblood. The fact that he is a bumbling idiot whose only ability is violence didn't seem to matter. Patrick clenched his fists angrily, gnashing his teeth; this was what they thought the typical wizard should do?

He surveyed the destruction and devastation around him, they were _sick!_

"Patrick…" Georgia said, making him jump as he realised she was stood next to him, Crabbe lay, bound and gagged a few feet away. "Calm down." she suggested, though it was more of an order, "We can't do anything else for them." She was staring at him, forcing him to keep eye contact, and eventually give in.

He sighed, "Fine! But I'm sick of this! Arriving after they've been? We are _Aurors_ for Merlin's sake! We are meant to be preventing this destruction!" Georgia only stared back at him sadly. "We have to do something!" He cried finally, falling short on the last word, looking forlornly around at their surroundings. He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing.

He leaned closer to Georgia, and more quietly, almost whispering, he repeated, "It's not meant to be like this. We have to-"

"We will," Georgia vowed, her two words immediately calming Patrick. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed affectionately, her strength and determination flowing into him just by that touch.

"We will." She repeated louder, causing her voice to echo around the silent street as if she was making a promise to all who lay cold and still around her.

And, in a way, she was.

_**The day before: December 23rd 1996, 11:44 pm.**_

"DAWLISH!"

Mark Dawlish flinched; quills, papers and his own body, spontaneously jumping upwards and landing rather haphazardly (and in his bodies case, with a loud thump) on the floor of his Auror's office. He groaned loudly, looking upwards at the chuckling figure appearing behind the cluttered desks.

"Working late I see?" Arnold Peasegood noted humorously.

"Yes." Mark replied shortly, still scowling as he stood and began to pick up the quills and papers. "What are you doing here?"

Arnold bent down to help him, gathering the scattered sheets, "Oh, I had reports to finish. I wandered down here to see if there was any other unlucky sod doing the same, and I found you-"

"-and just couldn't resist." Mark finished grumpily.

"It _was _funny though - I admit, I didn't expect you to leap up into the air like that."

"Hmmph." Was the only reply.

"Oh, cheer up Mark, it might never happen…"

"_What_ might nev-"

"Cup of tea?" Arnold grinned.

Mark sighed, shaking off the furious comments he wanted to bombard Arnold with, and instead nodded his head tiredly. "Please."

Arnold wandered off in between the office cubicles, searching for a teapot and some teabags. As he shuffled around in various cupboards he called out, "I'm guessing you've heard about the latest financial order?"

"Of course – Kingsley spent half of yesterday ranting about it. I thought he would be bald by the end of it; he yanked at his hair so many times!" Mark replied, shuffling his papers and clearing his desk.

"Absolutely ridiculous." Arnold said, appearing with a steaming teapot and two mugs in hand.

Mark blinked in surprise, "You think so?" He asked. Arnold was an Obliviator; why should he be complaining?

"Definitely, I mean, _thirty _percent of the budget to the Department of Magical Catastrophes? And only twenty percent to the Aurors! Come on! What are they thinking! They should be concentrating on stopping these attacks! Not covering them up! And before you say it; I am not a hypocrite. I'm speaking sense, our apartment doesn't need that much money." Arnold hand was shaking in anger as he poured the tea, and quietly, almost as an afterthought Mark wasn't supposed to hear, he added, "It won't win the war."

Mark chuckled, but it was a cynical laugh, "But do they listen?"

"Of course not-" Arnold jumped suddenly, "Merlin's beard!" he yelled in shock, slopping his tea down his robes, "Bugger!" he cried, upon seeing the stain.

"Oh I hate this thing." He said, pulling out a long chain from around his neck, dangling from the end was a matte black, coin shaped object that was shaking and twitching, sending vibrations up the chain and to Arnold's hand.

Noticing Mark's curious look, he added, "New contact device, tells us we're needed – for emergencies and that. Well, I better go see what it is, probably just delayed reports or something." Despite the reassuring words Mark noticed the slight glint of worry in Arnold's eye.

"Nice talking to you!" The tea-stained Obliviator said, striding towards the exit.

Mark sighed, wondering whether he should follow, just to check that it was delayed reports, and not anything more serious – like an attack. But no, he persuade himself, if it had been an attack they would have contacted the Aurors first, no matter how desperate they were to hide from the Muggles.

Mark took a long draught from his tea, and turned back to his desk and papers. Dipping his quill in the pot of ink, he carried on with his own reports.

_**Christmas Eve 1996, 4:58 am. **_

Mark shivered from the cold as he made his way through the dark alley that linked the small suburban area and larger town centre. He squinted at his watch; the ticking hands were barely visible in this light. He wondered how Georgia and Patrick were getting along; they were a good team, but their arguing distracted them, and on a mission, even if it was mainly clean up, distraction could mean death.

Most of the time, it was funny to watch, they both cared about each other immensely, but at any hint of disagreement (which happened a lot) they were at each other's throats, Mark had already lost 10 galleons betting how long it would take for them to admit they like each other, and actually get together. Mark thought that Kingsley's joking guess of Christmas 2020 seemed more and more probable.

Stepping out suddenly into the main street, Mark looked around for someone he recognised. There were many people around, clearing up the debris (the bodies had been moved a while back) and trying to create some sort of order. Mark entered the hustle of people and began to walk towards the main tent, which had been set up to house the injured muggles and other various officials who couldn't do their jobs on the street.

Once inside, he made his way through the temporary beds and into the rear end of the tent. Arnold Peasegood wasn't far off, and Mark saw him talking slowly to a bewildered looking woman who had obviously just been obliviated. Mark caught the words "gas leak" and "explosion" before Arnold looked up and waved, a grim smile on his face. Mark nodded and pulled away a curtain that covered a doorway into another section of the tent.

A large podium rested at the end of this chamber, and a large mass of people was crowded round it. They all clutched cameras, but there was no purple smoke evident, and Mark realised he had just walked into the muggle conference… while wearing mud stained Auror robes.

Mark cursed loudly, trying to quickly scurry back out without being noticed, but his obscenities had been heard and the nearest people turned to look at him quizzically, before opening their mouths in amazement at seeing his attire. The shit had really hit the fan now.

"Uh…" Mark said, frantically searching the room for an escape. The press, bored after waiting for news, had focused on him, and were ready to sprout their questions any second now; Mark could see it in their eyes. Before the nearest one could ask whether Mark had had any involvement in the disaster, even though it was blatantly obvious he had, a woman stepped out from the flapping plastic curtain behind the podium. Recognising her immediately, Mark couldn't believe his luck: Elsie Atherton. _Just __perfect_.


	2. The Yang

AN - Once again, I advise that you pay attention to the date and time.

Disclaimer - Still not mine.

Summary - What goes around, comes around, and that's the truth. The tale of five MofM employees and how their lives were twisted together by fate's sense of humour. An odd mixture of horror, suspense, angst, humour and romance, but a good read! I promise. ****

**Oh The Irony! - By Nestle**

"_Sentimental irony is a dog that bays at the moon while pissing on graves." - Karl Kraus__****_

_**Christmas Eve 1996, 5:09 am.**_

"ATHERTON!"

Elsie flinched, turning to stare at the back of the room angrily. Whoever it was who had just yelled for her better have a good reason otherwise she would throttle them. Speaking in front of reporters was bad enough, but when you had to do it with Muggle reporters and lie through your teeth it was even more nerve-racking. _And_ she was still shaking after the attack; so she didn't exactly appreciate someone making her jump a few seconds before she was due to speak.

At first she couldn't see who had yelled, and she squinted confusedly into the flashing lights of the cameras that surrounded her, then she spotted some sort of commotion at the back of the tent, and several reporters facing the wrong way. A hand suddenly popped up through the crowd and waved enthusiastically.

Elsie blinked, _who? _Mark Dawlish's head suddenly popped up, and she groaned loudly. _Just perfect. _

After a few moments of quiet panic, Elsie decided to ignore Mark, and start her speech anyway. She cleared her throat and tapped the microphone.

"Excuse me. Excuse me!" She called out, the reporters who had been crowding around Mark turned towards her, and she suddenly realised why they had been so interested in him – he was wearing robes! Elsie clenched her teeth and shot Mark a glare, who shrugged guiltily and slouched to the back of the room, away from the reporters.

"In view of today's devastating events, and the confusion that has followed, the officials saw that it was important that the press was notified immediately and given the full facts." Elsie paused, and licked her dry lips, wishing she had a glass of water. She spotted Mark making his way back through the tent flap, she hoped he didn't leave; she still wanted to yell at him.

"At approximately 11:40, yesterday night, the gas which had been leaking in the edge of Milton Keynes town centre, sparked. This resulted in a large explosion, killing many of the occupants in the town. As of yet, we do not know the source of the spark, or how long the gas had been leaking."

Several of the reporters were raising their hands with questions, but Elsie ploughed on, remembering she had told herself not to get distracted.

"So far, the medics have estimated that around 80 people were killed immediately, 15 have died since, and 7 more are in a critical condition. Other survivors have only minor injuries and have either been released or will be very soon." Elsie paused to scan the room, "Thank you. Another report will be released at a later date. Goodbye."

Ignoring the sudden roar of voices, she turned and walked back through the curtain, only to come face to face with Mark.

"Hello!"

"You-"

"Happy to see me as always Atherton, you never do change. You seen George or Patrick around anywhere?"

Elsie scowled, and shook her head, "No. Were they dueling?"

"Of course not! The Auror's weren't even called till after the Obliviators had cleaned up!" Mark's eyes glinted, and he scowled.

"What? Why did they do that?"

Mark tilted his head and looked at her condescendingly. "Oh Else! I know you get distracted with your important little duties, but I'd advice you to pay attention to the latest news on the budget at least."

"Oh shut up, the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee is a extremely important sector of-" Elsie never got to finish her sentence.

"A sector that only has two people working in it."

Elsie sighed loudly, and replied, "An absolute git as always Dawlish, you never do change."

"It seems neither of us do, we'll both just have to spend eternity arguing with each other then, if we'll never reach an agreement. At least I'll be happy knowing you're going through as much hell as me."

Before Elsie could retort, a second voice spoke up. "But if I remember correctly, you two used to be _very_ happy at the prospect of spending _eternity_ together."

Both Elsie and Mark spun round to face Patrick Williamson and Georgia Richmond, Mark's joy at seeing them was severely hindered by his annoyance at Patrick's comment. Elsie managed to brush it off though.

"Paddy! George!" She exclaimed, hugging both the Auror's. "I haven't seen you in ages! Has Mark been hiding you from me? I know he has that twisted rule where his friends can't stay friends with his old girlfriends." Elsie laughed, "As if it's his choice!"

"I would not force them Elsie, so stop acting like I do." Mark spat out angrily.

"Hush now, no one cares what you have to say. Anyway Patrick, how are your brothers? I miss them, they were always so much fun!" Elsie said

Mark snorted, and muttered, "Yeah right! Like that was the _only_ reason you liked them."

"Don't be silly Mark," George replied grinning, "The fact that they're extremely handsome helps a great deal. It makes a nice change seeing them, compared to Patrick's ugly mug of a face that is."

Patrick sent her a withering look, but she didn't notice, as she and Elsie had already begun chatting animatedly. Mark turned to Patrick.

"Everything go OK?" He asked.

"It was just perfect – come see what we've got for you." Patrick turned, and walked out the tent, Mark followed him; Georgia turned her head and watched them leave,

"You two have still got such great chemistry!"

"Oh don't start George, he was a prat when we were together, and he's still a prat now, nothing's changed." She sighed, "Did you realise he practically ruined my press conference today?" Georgia raised the eyebrow above her one eye, "Fine. He didn't ruin it as such, it's just because of him nothing went-"

George cut her off. "-exactly to plan? Elsie, you really need to burn that schedule of yours."

"I know, I know."

"That's why you and Mark were so good together, you brought some order into his life and he made you loosen up!" George seemed determined to make Elsie see her point of view.

"George please, we're over remember, he doesn't like me any-"

"Yes he does. I _know_ he does." Elsie squinted at her, suspicion making her doubt her friend.

"How?" She asked.

"Well, Patrick…" Georgia looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, "Patrick guessed that he did, because of the way he acted around you and he told me, and I agreed with him, and now I've told you so you can do something about it!"

"So we're basing this 'fact' merely on Patrick's sense of observation?" Elsie laughed, "I have so much faith!"

"Oh, don't be like that! He does still like you, and besides you like him, otherwise you would have denied it way before now."

"George! Come on! We have reports." Patrick stood at the tent flap, gesturing that they had to leave. The two women began to walk towards him, he was grinning by the time they reached him, "Mark's in the secure hold Else. He could do with some company." Elsie scowled.

"Bye now Elsie, don't ignore what I told you." George said, before following Patrick out the tent.

Elsie stood on her own fidgeting. Should she go see Mark? There was no reason why not; they were still friends – sort of. She didn't mean anything by it, no matter what George said. _No_, she decided, _I wont, just to show Patrick. _

Five minutes later she was entering the secure hold, a temporary shed like building.

"Bugger." She cursed, realising she'd gone completely against what she'd said she would do.

"Elsie?"

"Hello." She said pleasantly, walking over to Mark with a smile on her face. See, she could be _nice_.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked, shutting the door of the secure hold.

"Nothing. Why?" She asked, the super chipper grin still in place.

"You're being nice – it's not normal."

The grin dropped immediately, replaced by a scowl. "Fine." She growled, "If you insist. I wont be nice to you. You're a stupid prat anyway."

"Now, now!" Mark said, holding up his hands defensively, "I was just commenting on your unusual smile – I don't often see it. I never said it was a bad thing."

"Suck up." She muttered, but grinned at him anyway. _He hasn't shaved_, Elsie realised suddenly, _the dirty bugger._ Still, she didn't mind him with a bit of stubble; he looked quite handsome actually, in a 'I'm-pathetic-but-adorable-and-you-can't-resist' way.

She blinked, remembering that she was staring, "What's behind the door?" She asked quickly to break the silence. He jolted in surprise, and Elsie realised he'd been staring at her too. She smirked.

"Oh, uh- Deatheater. Unconscious. Patrick and George found him. Can't disclose his name." He murmured.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember the drill." Elsie grabbed for his arm and ended up holding his hand. _Completely by accident_, she mocked herself, "Come on Mark. Let's go get a drink." She dragged him towards the exit.

"Beer!" He asked expectantly.

"It's nearly six in the morning!"

"Or late at night… depending how you see it." Mark smirked.

"Coffee. We shall get coffee." He pulled on her hand reluctantly, "You can buy me a beer tonight though, if you want." She turned to smile at him, and continued to the door, he was following willingly now.

Elise pulled back the tent flap, but she froze immediately when she saw who was behind it… and what they were doing. Her mouth fell open.

Behind her, Mark grinned.

_**Christmas Eve 1996, 5:57 am.**_

"GEORGIA RICHMOND!"

A shrill shriek echoed around Georgia's ears, and she pulled back, her cheeks slowly turning pink. She span round to look at Elsie and Mark framed in the doorway.

Behind her, Patrick grinned.

"Excellent." Mark said, nodding his head and smirking at Patrick. Georgia's cheeks flushed an even deeper red. _Oh lord…_

"You were- you…" Elsie stuttered, waving her hands around to show her bewilderment.

Georgia suddenly noticed that Mark and Elsie were stood _very_ close. Her eye travelled down their arms and reached their linked hands. Slowly, she raised an eyebrow. Elsie followed her gaze, and blushed as deeply as Georgia. Patrick had noticed too.

"Excellent." He said, smirking at Mark. The two women ignored them.

"Holding hands?" Georgia asked, grinning.

Elsie spluttered, and retaliated the only way she knew how, "Kissing!"

_**Christmas Eve 1996, nearly twenty minutes earlier, 5:40 am.**_

"Bye now Elsie, don't ignore what I told you." Georgia advised, turning to follow Patrick out the tent.

"You didn't really mean that did you?" She asked a few seconds later, having caught up with Patrick.

"What?"

"The reports – you don't really expect us to start them now."

"Of course not! That was the only way I could think of getting you away so that Elsie is free to go visit Mark." Patrick grinned.

"Wishful thinking that is, she hates him."

"Oh, I don't think so."

Georgia laughed. "You know if you turn out to be wrong about Mark, you're gonna' get a mouthful from Elsie."

Patrick turned around, a teasing smile on his face; "Oh so suddenly it's only me who thinks he's still got a thing for her?"

Georgia stared at him through her one eye, amusement glinting in it's green depths, "Of course, and it will be until they get together. Then it'll have been all my idea." She sent him a dazzling smile; he only rolled his eyes.

"Of course George."

They carried on moving through the sections of the tent, and Georgia wondered where exactly Patrick was planning on going. She contemplated going home and catching up on some much needed sleep, but decided against it. She looked up at Patrick: for some reason she didn't want to go home _just yet_.

"If not reports, then what are we going to do?" She asked.

"Spy on Elsie and Mark of course!" He turned and grinned at her, "She should have gotten there by now."

Georgia shook her head, "You're so sad sometimes."

"You're following me still aren't you?"

"No. I just happen to be going in the same direction."

"I'm sure."

They reached the tent flap and hovered outside, straining to hear the mumbling voices from inside the room. "Can you understand them?" Georgia asked.

"No, they must be right next to the hold door." Patrick frowned, "Bugger, here I was hoping we'd witness first hand Mark's pathetic pick up lines."

Georgia couldn't stop herself from scoffing, "This coming from you! I've always wondered how such an in-control and confident Auror could turn into a drooling wreck when a pretty girl is nearby."

He looked at her startled, "You really mean that?"

"What? About you rivalling a dog with how much you salivate? Yeah, sure."

He frowned, "No! About me being an 'in-control and confident Auror'."

She paused, flicking her gaze up to him and back down to her feet. "Yes, I did." She looked up at him again to find his face a mixture of happiness and pride. "If I didn't I'd hardly work with you would I?" She finished, dampening the compliment slightly. His grin stayed though.

Patrick squinted at her suspiciously, "Ya' know, despite all your insults and harsh words, I think you're a nice person really."

She faked anger, "Darn! You've discovered my darkest secret!"

Patrick chuckled, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"You better not." She grinned up at him, meeting his gaze. Very quickly, their laughter stopped. The atmosphere was suddenly tense. Georgia bit her lip slightly. They continued to stare at each other.

Patrick wasn't aware of stepping forward, but he noticed that she was very close all of a sudden. Her gaze was flickering all over his face; trying to read him; searching.

"Patrick…" She started warily, but never got to finish, as he'd bent down and caught her lips with his own.

The kiss was short, and he pulled back slightly, staring into her eye. Georgia let out a long breath, it was warm against his skin and Patrick had to stop himself from sighing contentedly. He couldn't read her expression at all. He began to mumble an apology, about to back away, when she reached up and snaked an arm around his neck.

"Oh do shut up Patrick." She said, smirking, before kissing him herself.

_**The day before: December 23rd 1996, 8:03am.**_

"PEASEGOOD!"

Arnold Peasegood stumbled backwards in surprise, his shoes sliding on the polished wood of the floor. With a loud thud, he fell flat on his arse in the middle of the Atrium.

Muttering to himself, he looked up at the woman who had thought it amusing to scream his name the moment he apparated. The witch in question grinned at him, her one eye sparkling.

"Good Morning George." He grumbled, accepting her offered hand.

"And you Arnold. My, I didn't expect you to react like that! It was rather funny though, don't you think?" Georgia Richmond laughed, "You should have seen your face!"

He sent her a withering look, "I'm sure I would have found it hilarious. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Oh don't be tetchy Arnold, it's a beautiful day!" Georgia fell into step with him towards the elevators.

"Hmm…" He said, "Or it will be until Magical Maintenance realise just how much their budget has been cut."

His companion looked grim, "Yes, it was all a bit of a shock wasn't it? I still can't believe it."

Arnold smiled at her encouragingly, "Don't worry, I know you Auror's will still continue to work hard even with limited resources!"

She scoffed, "Ah yes, we'll just be nicking them from the Obliviator Headquarters!"

The elevator reached Level Three, "Bye then Arnold, hope I didn't scare you too much before. You should try it with someone though, it's very funny." Georgia smirked.

Arnold stepped off, "It'll come back around to you George; just you wait and see." He winked at her before the doors closed.

_Bah!_ Georgia thought, _no chance!_

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_AN - I do hope you enjoyed that. I thought the ending was fitting, after all, what goes around comes around! Review if you feel like it, though bear in mind it would make me very happy.  
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